


Echo Syndrome

by shootingstarcipher



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Instability, Romance, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 05:54:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12358902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shootingstarcipher/pseuds/shootingstarcipher
Summary: Richie Tozier’s nightmare was coming to life and Eddie Kaspbrak was having to live it – every single day.





	Echo Syndrome

Every day he seemed just that bit more broken than the day before, like someone was chipping away at him from the inside. Yet he still held it together, his composure and sanity never wavering – at least not outwardly – but Richie could see, albeit only ever from a distance, that he was cracking. They never spoke about it; it was virtually the one thing Richie never did speak about, mainly because he knew Eddie would shut down completely if he ever brought it up.

There were clues – hints of information, cries for help and times when his well-plastered mask slipped briefly from his face, revealing a barely noticeable imperfection every now and then that only Richie would be able to detect – that this had been going on for quite some time and every time a new one fell into Richie’s hands he studied it carefully before tucking it away in some hollowed-out corner of his mind until that corner was no longer hollow, full to the brim with every hint of Eddie Kaspbrak’s diminishing sanity.

Like the red marks that appeared on his forearms occasionally. Like the way his hands shook as he held his inhaler up to his mouth and how he’d been relying on it a great deal more of late. And like the way he flinched whenever someone touched him unexpectedly, the way his gaze always seemed to be concentrated on the floor or how he’d been staying inside more than usual, always coming up with excuses not to spend time with the rest of the losers.

Bill had mentioned it the other day – not to Eddie, but to everyone else – and the others had all agreed that he had indeed been staying away from them more often, somehow constantly reluctant to spend time with them even when they weren’t planning on going to places he hated like the sewer. Richie agreed with them too but kept quiet about his strange conversation with Eddie the week before, when he phoned to invite him over but Eddie had told him, in the weakest of voices, that he already had plans. It’d sounded like he was crying, though he refused to admit that to him over the phone. Richie still often wondered what had upset him – to the point where he was unable to fall asleep at night without calling him to check up on him, and if it sounded like he was crying then as well, Richie would have to go the whole night without sleeping.

In a way it was hurtful that he seemed to feel the need to hide so much from all of them, but Richie was still far too concerned about him to think of wanting to hurt him back. But he needed answers (and naturally, to see for himself whether Eddie was as in control of himself as he claimed, which he suspected he wasn’t). Eddie wasn’t usually the type to lie but in this case, he had no reason to believe he was telling the truth.

That was how Richie Tozier ended up banging on the Kaspbraks’ front door at 11 o’clock at night, his parents having chased him out of the house in a temper after his constant panicked muttering and pacing had apparently “ruined their evening” (though he secretly thought they were just getting back at him for complaining about their so-called friends taking over his room). His bike lay next to him on the ground and the clatter of it falling to the ground had probably woken up half the street, Mrs Kaspbrak included, so it was no wonder she was in such a bad mood when she finally answered the door and turned him away immediately, seeming more angry than concerned about him being out at such a late hour (even though there was a police-enforced curfew and he really shouldn’t have been out on his own at night, regardless of the sudden bout of missing children cases). 

It was fortunate for Richie, then, that Eddie’s bedroom was located on the ground floor of the house because after promising Mrs Kaspbrak he would return to his own home immediately, he crept round the back of the house, picked up the biggest stone he could find that wouldn’t have caused any damage and launched it at his best friend’s window, the unexpected noise almost making Eddie fall out of bed in a panic. He knocked on the window twice to capture his friend’s attention and grinned like an idiot – momentarily forgetting all his worries and concerns – when Eddie crossed the room and slid the window open without a word, grabbing his hand and pulling him up through the open window.

But if Eddie was being so friendly and helpful, then why was Richie the only one smiling?

“You can’t be here!” Eddie hissed at him once the window was closed again. Richie’s grin faltered for a moment but returned soon enough as he completely disregarded the younger boy’s comment and wondered over to sit on the edge of the bed, remarking at how exhausted he was. “I don’t care! My mom will literally kill me if she sees you here and- How did you get out of the house?” He paused for a moment before answering his own question. “Your parents kick you out again?”

Richie nodded without a word. It was a frequent occurrence that all his friends had gotten used to. Only Eddie had met them and that had only been on one occasion and for no more than a minute or so, but he had seen first-hand how they treated him – like he was nothing but an inconvenience. Maybe he was just an inconvenience. He hoped Eddie didn’t think so but the way he was looking at him then made him think that he probably was bothering him. Eddie yawned but the look of irritation failed to die from his eyes. That’s when Richie suggested they both just went to sleep.

“You don’t mind if I crash here for tonight, do you?” he asked rhetorically, knowing that Eddie probably did mind but also that he’d never throw his friend out onto the street, especially given the current circumstances.

“Fine, but you’re sleeping on the floor,” Eddie remarked as he tossed one of his pillows onto the floor, right beside the bed and motioned for his friend to get out of his way. Richie stayed put, irritating him further. “I’m not having you in my bed,” the younger boy continued, folding his arms across his chest and scowling at him. “Who knows what kind of ugly diseases you could have? No offense, but it’s a wonder I’m letting you set foot in my room, let alone sleep in my bed. Now get up.”

Richie did as he said then, knowing from experience how frantic and defiant he could get when it came to germs, though as he stood up from the bed he jokingly gave Eddie a hurt look, quickly followed by his trademark grin to let him know he wasn’t really upset about it. That was just the way Eddie Kaspbrak was. And that was one of things Richie liked so much about him – even though it did frequently drive him crazy. As he took a seat on the carpeted floor Eddie threw him a blanket he’d retrieved from a nearby cupboard and climbed back into his own bed, shuffling to the edge so he and Richie could still see each other as they lay there, trying to get to sleep.

Eddie fell asleep within minutes. Richie was still wide awake an hour later.

His mind was racing and sometimes his heart was too. He still wasn’t convinced Eddie was okay and he was starting to realise that he probably never would be, even if he asked him about it directly; even if he interrogated him about the marks on his arms and legs and about his consistent avoidance of him and the rest of the losers, he probably wouldn’t believe anything Eddie came up with. Even if Eddie told him the absolute truth. He’d never be happy with it and that was not a statement of the younger boy’s trustworthiness but of Richie’s own paranoia and constant fear that something was wrong with Eddie.

Besides, Eddie was always convinced there was something wrong with him. That’s why he was taking so many pills. But Richie knew that something else was going on – something worse, something so bad he couldn’t admit it.

Becoming so restless he thought his heart and mind were going to erupt simultaneously, he stood up to stretch his legs and started pacing around the room, just like he’d been doing at home earlier that night. Eddie’s room was so neat it was almost sickening. Everything had a place and he guessed Eddie would have had a heart attack if something was ever moved from where it was supposed to be. The idea to move something out of sheer curiosity was tempting but the sounds of thrashing coming from the bed distracted him before he had the chance to go through with it.

His blanket was half-off the bed and he seemed to be repeatedly attacking his pillow with fists, eyes shut firmly but his body moving about so rapidly it was hard to believe he was really asleep. Richie was by his side within a fraction of a second, grabbing at his hands and holding his wrists together in an attempt at keeping him still. But he failed miserably, Eddie successfully breaking free from his grasp almost instantly. It was then, as his sleeve rode up his arm in response to his violent thrashing and flailing that Richie saw the full extent of those mysterious marks on his body.

There weren’t just a few reddened patches of skin like he’d thought beforehand. There were bruises, most of them fresh, and a larger wound on the back of his right arm, dried blood smeared all over his skin and the inside of his sleeve. He kicked himself for not thinking something like this (whatever “this” was) had been going on before. But he still didn’t have all the answers. In fact, there were even more questions infiltrating his brain now than he could cope with. But now wasn’t the time to be trying to figure it all out. Now he needed to calm Eddie down and wake him up. He had to confront him.

He spoked to him softly, whispering, trying to make him understand that all he wanted to do was help. He promised not to tease him or make jokes – and for Richie Tozier, that was an extremely difficult promise to make – and could only hope that Eddie could hear him in his sleep. Eventually, he stopped thrashing about on his own, his breathing returning to normal without the aid of his inhaler, and Richie gently shook him awake with a small, relieved smile – though he could not completely relax until he’d had an explanation for his injuries.

When Eddie awoke Richie would have liked to liken him to a deer caught in the headlights of a car but he kept his promise and stayed quiet, waiting for any jokes he wanted to make to be banished from his mind before speaking. “What’s going on, Eds? You can tell me.” Eddie simply acted like he had no idea what he was referring to, repeatedly shaking his head until Richie interrupted the silence again. “Your arm, Eds. I’m talking about your arm. You’re covered in blood and I have no idea what’s happened, so you’re gonna tell me. I need to know. You’re freaking me out.” He kept his voice calm the entire time, in spite of the growing urge for him to shout and scream and shake Eddie by the shoulders until he explained. That wouldn’t have helped anything, anyway. Eddie was already skittish and there was no need for him to do anything to make it worse.

Eddie still wouldn’t speak, even in spite of Richie’s pleading, but he did at least look up at him, shifting slightly so that his arms snaked around the taller boy’s waist, pulling him down to sit on the edge of the bed in the process. Richie smiled to himself, Eddie’s warmth radiating through to him, at the idea of him finally allowing him to go near his bed. Maybe he’d forgotten about all the hideous diseases he probably had or maybe in that moment he just didn’t care, the more important thing being that Richie was there for him in a way nobody else was.

“Does it hurt? Your arm, I mean. That cut looks pretty deep.” Richie’s voice tore through the silence but Eddie still failed to react, keeping his face pressed into the cruck of the older boy’s neck until he was pushed away and the pressure to speak became too great to go on ignoring – and Richie hadn’t even mentioned his surprise at how his wound hadn’t been dressed yet (usually Eddie would be the first to leap up and fetch as many bandages or plasters as required).

He eventually nodded in response, acknowledging that his injury was more serious than he’d let on. “Don’t make me talk about it, Rich. I just… I just can’t.”

He flinched when Richie’s fingers grazed the wound on the back of his arm, a sudden stinging sensation rippling through his flesh, but he was grateful when he snatched a pair of scissors from the closest nightstand, cut off a piece of his clothing (which made Eddie smile slightly anyway, noticing how ridiculous his friend looked with a rectangular gap in his t-shirt) and wrapped it around his arm, tying a knot in it to keep it from slipping. Catching a glimpse of the younger boy’s coy smile, Richie decided that although he hadn’t uncovered the reason for his strange behaviour or an explanation as to how his injuries had manifested, the night was a success so far (Eddie seemed much more comfortable around him now, after all).

But that was until Mrs Kaspbrak burst into the room, her icy glaring eyes aiming at one person in particular – Richie Tozier.


End file.
